Honey and the Moon
by Kazumi Muraki
Summary: James Norrington ponders an offer he wishes he couldn't refuse. Sparrington.


Honey and the Moon

James Norrington expelled a heavy sigh, tossing his hat onto his writing desk. His coat he hung almost carelessly over a chair. The wig stayed, not for vanity's sake but for convenience; should he be called out, he need not want to affix the tedious accessory in his haste.

Relishing in the lukewarm breeze that snuck up his sleeves and cooled his sweaty flesh, James uncorked a bottle of scotch, filling just the bottom of his crystal glass. Just this and nothing more, he told himself, settling by the window.

The stars glowed, completely comfortable with their illustrious beauty that made every woman want to be one and every man want to touch one. James always kept a bit of juvenile fancy in his heart that _he_ could touch one, if he really wanted to. Tonight, however, the stars were merely pinpricks in a dark abyss unreachable to all, especially him.

He'd taken to teaching himself logic recently. The earth was not flat, women delighted in giving mixed signals to hopeless men, the Caribbean was cursed to never, _ever_ reach 0 percent humidity, and James Norrington could never have what he wanted.

To have what he wanted would be a sin; yet, the desire to have it was a sin in itself. The twisted logic made him feel sick inside. As he sipped from a glass that was mysteriously fuller than originally intended, James concluded that the seven sins were created to make one feel eternally guilty.

Jack Sparrow embodied sin to its extreme, the most notorious of all: pride. James knew that Jack thought he could remove the stars from the sky, nevertheless just touch them. Such sentiments were obnoxious; but when James returned to the safety of his home and cast his wig aside, nestling on the window sill with a glass of scotch, he found himself quite enjoying Jack's ostentatious nature.

He admired the man's sense of duty—to himself, of course. There was nothing that would boast a block to Jack's reign over his life, except maybe death and James figured that the pirate had a way to achieve freedom even then.

For the charlatan king was savvy in a way James had never been. Hopelessly lacking such a wily passion, James had made up for it by being damn good at his post. Being Commodore gave him freedom he needed, but with power came responsibility, and in the end James found himself chained tighter than before. It wasn't enough and it never would be.

James wanted, he _craved_, not some silly semblance of independence but real, undiluted freedom. Jack's freedom. And maybe even Jack himself.

Jack knew this, studied it, employed it against him. James had begrudgingly admitted to himself that Jack was incredibly adept at using people's weaknesses against them. Weakened by indecision, the victim would then be open to all of Jack's carefully constructed chicanery.

But James prided himself on one thing: his stubbornness. He would not be drawn in by the man's sensuous nature or his lackadaisical attitude. Even when he was weakened by indecision, he pushed all other thoughts aside and relied on logic to escape Jack's grasp. Then, once he was home and safe to think his raucous and unruly thoughts, he would pull them back and examine them one by one, looking for hints of truth that he could willingly accept.

Jack was a hint of truth that he just could not accept. For him to be a pirate and a good man was to be a walking, talking oxymoron. A swaggering, swindling oxymoron would perhaps be more accurate. A swaggering, swindling oxymoron with sashaying hips—no, quite ordinary hips.

Where did Jack's hips come from?

James let his head loll back and he felt the scotch warm on his tongue before he swallowed.

Maybe it wasn't stubbornness after all. Maybe it was just fear that kept James immune to Jack and his freedom and charms. The thought instantly sobered James and he worked quickly to remedy that, tipping the scotch bottle into his glass.

Yes, it was bloody fear. Jack was indeed a hint of truth in a raucous, unruly world and it was fear that blocked James; fear that held James back. Not Jack.

James's eyes closed and he thought back to the first time he'd laid eyes on the unwashed pirate. Jack was hilarity in human form, all sopping fabric and smart remarks, and brazen!—yes, much too brazen for a man in his position. That must have been the telling sign, that shameless attitude that danced along the edge of James's sword as it held firm at Jack's throat.

He should have run the man through right then and there and ended this madness early on. It was madness, but Lord it was sweet madness. He'd never allowed himself to dwell like this, so seriously. It was dangerous, letting his mind wander, but even as the scotch warmed his body, making him more receptive to such dreams, James knew his square of logic would remain untouched.

He was free to dream as much as he wanted, because in the end he'd wake up dizzy and still in control. Still respectable, still Commodore. Still trapped under the weight of his fallacious freedom with only a small hangover to undermine the normalcy of the day.

James pushed his glass away, lest he ruin the promise of merely a small hangover. The moon had become a beacon of calming light in the star-speckled sky. In less than five hours, the dawn would disrupt the peace of the night and morning would break, hot and hectic. For now, James mused freely, letting his mind traverse the heavy air of its own will. Perhaps somewhere out on the water Jack was staring up at the same moon, a bottle of rum in his grimy hands.

James allowed himself to wonder where the pirate was now. Jack had promised him on their last encounter that he would be traveling far and long, "doomed to survive merely on fond memories of me beloved Commodore."

James scoffed, pushing Jack away for the sly pirate had come too close. So close, James noticed, that the cloying scent of rum, sweat, and unwashed man had begun to overload his senses. "In that case, you'll starve to death before you leave the harbor."

"On the contrary, Commodore," Jack purred, delighting in the flustered reaction he garnered. "Yer memory will sustain me until I reach Singapore."

"So that's where you're headed? Singapore?" James interjected, eager to end this irritating tête-à-tête.

"Figure of speech, mate, but that's not a half bad destination."

They fell silent, frosty blue eyes meeting fiery amber orbs and holding. Slowly, James's gaze melted and he refocused on the sand.

"You can always come with, Commodore," Jack said, his salacious tongue caressing the last word, making James's title highlight his blasphemy even more. "I'll let you have the brig all to your onesies and if you're really good, I'll even give you a bottle of rum."

Surprise had dissolved into annoyance by the end of Jack's statement.

"That really is so kind, Mr. Sparrow. It is a sincere regret to have to refuse such a splendid offer," replied James, only half-sardonically.

Jack leaned forward once more, allowing his lips to barely brush the commodore's. "Pity," he breathed, a devilish grin pasted unrepentantly across his countenance.

Again, James thought. Too brazen. He said nothing though as Jack moved back, still grinning expectantly. When James made no move to follow him, the grin faltered, replaced momentarily with an emotion that James could only describe as sincere disappointment.

He remained on the shore, standing stock-still in sand and darkness even as Jack climbed into his longboat and rowed out to sea where the _Pearl_ waited impatiently, just as eager as her captain for another great adventure.

When he returned home that night, he drank an entire bottle of scotch and fell asleep at the window, waking the next morning with a headache of roughly the same size and intensity as the Thirty Years' War.

It really was a sincere regret, he thought, finally removing his wig and slinging it across his desk. The thought of having Jack's brig to himself and a bottle of rum amused him more than having his furnished house and cupboard of scotch.

But he had responsibilities and not one of them was utilizing Jack's brig and partaking his rum stores. He was a man of duty, James concluded, as Jack was; only James's duty was to others while Jack's duty lay with himself. Either way, they both moved on.

One day he'd retire, prepare a sloop with an able crew and sail out in search of Jack. When he found the charlatan king happily drunk in some dingy Tortugan bar, he'd return the man's kiss and then ask if the brig and the rum were still available. The sloop and crew would be sent back home with the tearful story of the former Commodore's death at sea—scurvy maybe, or the plague. Something fun.

For now, he was still afraid (and slightly drunk) so he resigned himself to staring at the sky and pondering the future. Jack had a way of making the impossible seem possible in the most tempting of ways. He really was a threat to James's carefully guarded square of logic.

But tonight, caught up in the coolness of the night and the warmth of the scotch, James let his guard down, let logic ebb from his consciousness. With a small, knowing smile, he reached out to the sky and in his mind's eye, touched the stars.

Don't know why I'm still afraid.  
If you weren't real I would make you up now.  
I wish that I could follow through.  
I know that your love is true and deep as the sea.

But right now, everything you want is wrong.  
And right now, all you dreams are waking up.  
And right now, I wish I could follow you  
To the shores of freedom  
Where no one lives.

Remember when we first met  
And everything was still a bet in love's game  
You would call, I'd call you back  
And then I'd leave a message on your answering machine

But right now, everything is turning blue.  
And right now, the sun is trying to kill the moon.  
And right now, I wish I could follow you  
To the shores of freedom  
Where no one lives.

Freedom. Run away tonight.  
Freedom. Run away. Run away tonight.

We're made out of blood and rust  
Looking for someone to trust without a fight .  
I think that you came too soon;  
You're the honey and the moon that lights up my night.

But right now, everything you want is wrong.  
And right now, all you dreams are waking up.  
And right now, I wish I could follow you  
To the shores of freedom  
Where no one lives.

Freedom. Run away tonight.  
Freedom. Run away. Run away tonight.

We got too much time to kill  
Like pigeons on my windowsill we hang around.  
Ever since I've been with you  
You hold me up all the time I'm falling down

But right now, everything is turning blue.  
And right now, the sun is trying to kill the moon.  
And right now, I wish I could follow you  
To the shores of freedom  
Where no one lives.

Freedom. Run away tonight.  
Freedom. Run away. Run away tonight.  
Freedom. Run away. Run away tonight.


End file.
